


On My Own

by underhill_underwater



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Gods, M/M, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:53:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underhill_underwater/pseuds/underhill_underwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plot diverges after the beginning of episode 2.10.  Dean wakes up before Sam can ditch him at the motel and they have words.  It goes downhill for Sam from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean's breathing evened out about half an hour ago.  _Better now than never._   He grabs his duffle from under his bed, goes into the bathroom to get the rest of his stuff, and then, with quiet footsteps, he starts to sneak towards the door.  Hopefully--

"Going somewhere, Sam?" a voice asks out of the dark.

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam swears.  Dean is sitting--in the goddamn dark like some kind of movie villain--in a chair at the table, waiting.  Sam switches on the light.  It illuminates Dean's face, casting his features into harsher lines than usual.  Dean looks... angry.  Goddamn furious even.  "What the hell are you doing?!"

"What am _I_ doing?" Dean hisses.  "What are _you_ doing?!  I thought we were going to give it some time, think about things!"  Dean leaps out of the chair and crowds into Sam's space.  "Isn't that what you told me?"

Sam sighs.  "No, Dean, _you_ said that.  _You_ needed the time, and _you_ needed to think.  Maybe we just need some space, dude."

Dean shakes his head.  "No, Sam, we need to stay together, dad TOLD me--"

"NO."  Sam is so done with this.  He loves his brother.  Loves him, honest to god, but he cannot do this.  "Dean, I'm leaving."  He swings the door open and marches outside.  Before he can get too far though, Dean's hand falls on his shoulder, trying to pull him back.

"Sam--"  Sam pushes Dean away, continuing into the parking lot, but Dean keeps following.  "Sam!"  Sam starts to think fast.  The only way he's going to get Dean to back down is...  He whips his head right and left looking for people.  There.  There's a bar down the street, and several groups of people are standing outside in groups.  Sam brushes Dean's hand off again and shoves him.

"Jesus, Dean, no!  Are you really this pathetic?"  Dean freezes.  As Sam's voice gets louder, the people by the bar start to look over at them.  Dean's eyes flick their way and then back to Sam.  He wavers.  "I mean, you always call me a girl, but look at YOU right now."  A girl laughs and Dean's face goes bright red and then deathly white.  "Get yourself together, man, and listen: I don't NEED you.  This, now?  This is just sad."  Another loud laugh sounds from the girls.  _That should do it,_ Sam thinks.  Ego: Dean's biggest weakness.  As Sam turns and walks away, he knows Dean won't stop him.  Maybe if no one were watching, but now?  Not a chance.  And while all this has been a low blow, Sam can't help smiling at his success.

\---

Sam hates buses, but after the show he put on outside the motel he hadn't had much of a choice.  Stealing a car would be kind of hard with people staring your way.  So, he hitches it to a bus stop and by morning he's a town or two over.  It doesn't take him long to get a room, but by the time he does his feet are dragging.  _Funny,_ he thinks.  _I'm a lot more tired than I thought I'd be._   I mean, he'd napped on the bus.  His feet are weighted as he stumbles into the room, barely getting to the bed before collapsing face down on it.   _Too tired.  Not natural,_ he thinks, but a moment later he's out.

\---

He is woken by his cell ringing.  "Aaargh," he moans.  Damn, he could stay in bed all day, just lay here for once and do nothing.  He has a long drive ahead of him though--Ellen's first, then he'll see what his next step is--so he sits up and...

Something's off.  

He flexes his arms and the joints crack like they usually do in the morning.  He yawns and his jaw creaks.  Nothing new there.  Maybe he's imagining things.  Maybe... 

_Oh fucking hell._

Looking down at his hands--his now delicate, dainty hands--he knows that yeah, this?  This is definitely something wrong.  He throws the sheet off himself.  _Jesus._   Slender legs, tiny feet, boxers loose on his hips.

He's up in a flash, almost tripping with the awkwardness of this body--IS it HIS body?--on the way to the bathroom.  He needs to see a mirror.  He has to know--

He screetches to a stop and only barely manages to stop himself with a grip on the counter.  "Oh f--"

Slender face, wide blue eyes, wavy brown hair curled down to his shoulders with stupidly long bangs.  Thin arms and legs, narrow waist, and, worst of all, his chest--

"Oh fucking hell."  That's not him in the mirror.  

That's when he panics.  He crumples to the ground and starts pulling at his hair.  "This isn't real.  This isn't real.  This is just a crazy, f-ed up dream and I'm going to wake up and Dean is going to make fun of me and..."

...He's not waking up.  Dean's not in the next room waiting to make fun of him and this crazy dream because a) it's not a dream, and b) he ditched Dean, humiliated him in a parking lot two towns ago.  " _I don't NEED you,"_ echoes through his head.  Oh god, he is so screwed.

Wait, wait, no.  He can deal with this.  This is just another case, right?  Dean worked cases alone all the time back in the day.  Sam's way smarter than Dean, right?  He went to fucking Stanford, he can goddamn do this.  He DOESN'T need anyone's help.  He just needs to think this through...

The facts he knows: he was male last night and he's female today.  So, sometime last night he... changed.  This body he's in?  He doesn't recognize it, so for all he knows it could be a spell or some sort of warped possession.  So...

He's got nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  He buries his face in his hands.  _What a goddamn morning._

\---

By lunch he's no less freaked out, but decidedly calmer.  In clothes probably four times too large for him, Sam's sitting in a Starbucks tapping his foot too fast and sipping nervously at his latte.  

Plans.  He needs a plan.

First, he needs to get new clothes.  He looks like an idiot in his old ones, like a kid playing dress up in their parents' stuff.  The barista already gave him a weird look, and he can see a few glances aimed his way through the window.  He needs to get out of here.  He dumps the remains of his latte in the trash as he heads out, suddenly not having a taste for it anymore.

At a hole in the wall thrift shop Sam sorts through shirts and pants (no skirts, god, no skirts).  He finds a pair of jeans that almost fit--just a little loose on his hips--and a belt to go with it.  He settles on four t-shirts, all too large, but he can't bear the thought of advertising these, these... _breasts_ , he thinks with a shudder.  It's not like they're LARGE or anything, not like he remembers Jess's to be, but it's enough to make him uncomfortable.  He grabs a ratty shop jacket with "Dave" stitched over the breast, and then finds a pair of tennis shoes that DON'T swamp his feet (he's tripped more than a few times on his own just getting here).

In the dressing room, he examines himself more closely, finally getting a good look at the body he's currently housed in.  She's small, maybe 5'2", 5'3", and thin enough Sam's afraid he could blow away if a stiff breeze goes by.  His eyes are a matte blue, dull against the pale skin he's currently sporting, and his hair is a shade darker.  He's not beautiful he observes, he's average, but he can tell that if he--she--whatever--put some effort into it, this face could be pretty.  He cringes at the way the cashier ogles him after he changes, handing over the cash and getting the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

Back at his room he bundles up his old clothes and throws them into the dumpster out back.  Somewhere in the time it took to get from the thrift shop to the motel he'd made a decision: he could use Dean's help.  Not that he can't figure this out on his own, of course he could, but it'll be easier with someone watching his back while he researches.  And he'll need a foray into the hunter community if things turn sour.  'Cause that's the other thing: under no circumstance is Dean to ever know that Sam got himself turned into a girl.

He's got it all figured out.  He'll get rid of his stuff, get a new I.D., and find Dean, spin some half-true sob story about how he's having visions and that some demon with yellow eyes is after him.  Dean won't be able to turn him away.  As for why Sam can't tell Dean who he really is... Well.  It's a matter of pride if he's honest with himself.  If Dean found out that not twelve hours after he'd ditched him that Sam already got himself into trouble, he'd never hear the end of it.  Dean would laugh and laugh and laugh.  Similarly he can't tell Bobby or Ellen; both would call Dean and the former problem becomes the latter.  No, no one can know about this.  After he works it all out, then he can disappear and come back as himself, good ol' boy-Sam.  No one ever has to know.

He maxes out his last credit card getting a new laptop, phone, and as much cash as possible before he dumps his old ones next to the clothes in the dumpster.  In another store he buys things he'd seen Jess with, things he's pretty sure all girls have and would be suspicious if he didn't have.  Some makeup (he chooses it almost at random), some tampons (God, he hopes he won't be a girl long enough to have to use those), assorted toiletries, and underwear.  Finally he shoves it all in a duffle and grabs the first bus back towards Dean.

Drifting off in the back of the bus, he allows himself to admit that maybe he's not just going to Dean for protection while he's in this foreign body.  Maybe it's because he's scared as shit and dear god does he want his big brother's presence.  _Maybe._


	2. Meet Sam, Same As the Old Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new Sam meets Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to put the appropriate amount of spelling errors for an eight year old in Dean's journal entry; dunno if it worked. Points for effort?

_January 25, 1987_

_This is my jurnal.  I am Dean ~~Winchester~~ and I am eight years old and it was my birthday yestarday.  My uncle Bobby gave this to me becus my dad forgot and Bobby sed it was lucky that I was there becus everyone shuld get sumthing on their birthday.  I sed it didnt reely matter but that made him reel mad._

_Bobby sed I shuld put whatevar I want here.  I asked if it was like dad's jurnal and if I shuld put stuff abot monsters in it but he sed it didn matter and that I culd put anything.  He ~~seys~~  says that if I feel lonly or need to talk to sumeone I shuld just wright it here becus he nows dad is busy and Sammy's to litle to talk abot grownup stuff still.  I asked him who wuld read it and he sed no one and that seemed kind of dum so he sed he could read it wen he sees me if I want.  I think thats cool.  Hey uncle Bobby._

_Signed,_

_Dean_

* * *

Sam is more pleased than he can say that the Impalas's still in the same place, because Dean's almost as much of a bitch to track as dad.  He doesn't spend more that a second wondering why, with no hunt holding him up, Dean's still in town.  Instead he goes up to the door and knocks fast before he can talk himself out of it.  What if Dean recognizes him?  What if his big-brother-super-powers can pick out his features even on a foreign face?  What if--

The door opens surprisingly fast.  Dean's face is a like a punch in the stomach, the relief a tangible thing.  "Sa--"  Dean's face is bright and hopeful, until he sees the unfamiliar female form before him.  He watches Dean's face fall.  Dean was waiting for ME, he realizes.  

Dean gives her the up and down, not exactly checking Sam's female body out, but not purely assessing either.  Sam represses the urge to scowl.  "What do you want?" Dean demands.  From the tone of his voice, Sam can tell his brother is half a minute from slamming the door in his face.  "Door says 'do not disturb', sweetheart,"

Sam gulps.   _This is it._   "Your name is Dean.  You're twenty-seven years old.  The Impala outside is yours."  Deep breath.  "You hunt monsters." 

Before Sam can say another word, a strong grip is yanking him through the door and into the room.  Dean shoves him towards the chair and stands--looms, more like it--a few feet away from him, arms crossed.  

"Alright, you've got my attention.  Now who the hell are you?"

"Jessica.  Uh.  Listen, I--"  If he fucks this up… Nerves rush through Sam so fast he almost chokes.  What he manages to burst out with is, "I had a dream about you!"

Dean raises an eyebrow.  "Not that I'm not flattered, but..."

"No, I mean, I'm not crazy, but--but I saw you, here, in this motel, and, and... I know you can help me."

"Help you?"  Dean's interest has clearly been piqued by the whole vision thing.  Sam knew it was a good idea to pass himself as yet another of Yellow Eyes' special kids.

"There's...there's this thing, right?  I keep dreaming about this man, but he's not really a man."  Sam takes a deep breath.  "He's got yellow eyes.  I mean, who has yellow eyes?"  

"Yellow eyes?" Dean repeats harshly.  "It's got yellow eyes?"

"Yeah…"

"What else?"

"N-nothing.  He looks just like a normal guy, just you know…"

Dean frowns but takes Sam's words at face value.  "Alright, then tell me…"  He sits still as Dean questions him at an aggressive pace.  They're all standard and anticipated queries.  What year was Jessica born ("'83.  I'm 23 years old."), how did her mother die ("A nursery fire, along with my dad."), how long has she been having visions ("About a year."), and does she have any other powers ("No," Sam lies, because he wants to appear nonthreatening, and he remembers how freaked Dean had been when he'd moved something with his mind).

Dean does all the supernatural tests next.  Silver knife, salt shot, glass of holy water.  Sam passes them all.  After that, Dean pulls out the ID Sam worked on so painstakingly earlier today.  He waits with baited breath while his brother scans it over with a sharp eye.  It's good, he knows, the best work Sam's ever done, and it needs to be; it has to get past his brother, who knows all the tricks of the trade.

"Okay."

Sam breathes a sigh of relief.  He's passed.  Dean believes him.  The identity has held up.  Sam is Jessica Miller: twenty-three year old, organ donor.  Her parents both died in a fire when she was a baby, and she was kicked around in the system till she was eighteen.  She got a full ride into UCSF and majored in Comparative Religion.  The relief is short lived though, because goddamn Dean…

"So what do you want from me?" he asks

Sam sputters.  "Well, you're supposed to… to help me!"

"Yeah, I'm kind of busy right now.  Besides, I have it on good authority that no one needs me," Dean finishes bitterly.

Aw, son of a… Sam wants to punch himself.  Or Dean.  Or anything, really.

"But you protect people!"

"I hunt things.  I'm no good at playing babysitter.  You'd just slow me down."

"But--"

"Look, this is more my brother's thing than mine.  Tell ya what, though.  I got a friend, name of Bobby.  He can look after you and find some way to keep you safe."

Oh goddamnit, Dean's trying to pawn him off on-- Wait.  Should this really bother him?  He can get research done just as well at Bobby's as he can-- No.  No, he's staying with Dean.

"I want to stay with you."  Sam gives him his best puppy dog eyes.  Instead of caving though, Dean just rolls his eyes.

"Look, you can stay here tonight--no one's using the other bed--but tomorrow? You're outta here.  No offense."

Sam stands there gaping.  Dean has NEVER spoken to Sam this way--but he's not Sam right now.  

Dean shucks his shirt and pulls back the covers on the bed closest to the door.  Sam averts his eyes and frowns at the floor.

"Get some shuteye.  We start out at eight sharp."

Sam can't sees a way around this, at the moment at least.  He'll have to find some way to convince Dean tomorrow.  For now, though… He kicks off his shoes and climbs fully clothed into bed.  Dean raises his eyebrows at that, but Sam shrugs (he didn't remember to buy night clothes, and like hell is he wearing nothing but underwear--as a girl--in front of his BROTHER).

Sam burrows under the sheets and pulls the dubiously stained motel comforter up over his shoulders.  He faces towards the front and his brother, and sees his brother facing right back at him.  Sam knows that even though his eyes are closed, Dean's awake.  And judging by the hand under his pillow, he's got a gun trained right on Sam's head.  Instead of being alarming, that fact is so utterly DEAN that Sam drifts off easy.  And dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic will be interspersed with Dean's old journal entries from when he was a kid up til now. Yep!


	3. Gotcha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's plans fall through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, guess who was looking through some notebooks and found their old password and login name? So I figured I'd start updating again, because when I started I was all like, "I will finish this if it's the last thing I do!" So! Here we are!

_January 25, 1991_

_Today I'm twelve.  Dad forgot again.  Big surprise.  Sammy remembered though and he tried to make a cake.  Almost set the kitchen on fire that crazy kid._

_We're almost out of food again.  Dad keeps going on longer and longer trips and we have to stretch the food longer and longer too.  If dad's not back in a week we're gonna be in trouble._

_Sometimes I wish I still had Bobby read this but it's better that he doesn't know.  Dad would get angry and I don't want Bobby to worry._

_Sam's my responsibility and I can take care of him on my own._

 

_February 2, 1991_

_Dad's still not home._

* * *

  _A woman twisting a wedding ring, sitting in a motel room, waiting for someone to meet her.  She's expecting someone but it's Gordon Walker who bursts in.  She opens her mouth to scream but_ BANG.  Sam wakes up on a gasp.

"Hey, have you heard from Sam?" he hears.  Dean is just outside; he can see him through the curtains on his cell phone, hear him through the cracked door.  Pause.  "Come on, Ellen, please.  Something bad could be going on here, and I swore I'd look after that kid."

So he was trying to get Ellen to rat on him.  Might have worked, he thought.  He had planned on heading that way but hadn't made it that far before…THIS happened.

Dean sighs.  "Thanks anyway, Ellen.  Let me know if you hear from him.  Okay.  Bye."  He hangs up and pushes back inside. 

"Who's Sam?" Sam asks.

Dean double takes, clearly not expecting Jessica to be up.  

"Vision thing?" Dean asks, a clear evasion of the subject.  Sam lets him have it though.  Dean's already up--freshly showered, shaved, and dressed--and pulling on his boots.

"Yeah.  They wake me up sometimes."  

Dean shoots a dazzling grin Sam's way.  "More about me?"  Good god, his brother just couldn't turn it off, could he?

"No, some girl…and…"  He can't say he knows who Gordon is.  "Some guy.  He… I think he was going to shoot her."  Sam gulps.  Is it another another of the special children?  Is Gordon hunting them down?

Dean looks interested now, his eyes sharp.  "Describe them to me."

So Sam does.  He describes the woman, brown hair and pretty features, and Gordon, so detailed he even includes the scar above the man's left eyebrow.  Dean tenses.

"Gordon," he mutters.  "God damn it."  He grabs his bag and Sam follows suit.  "Nothing I can do now."  Nothing WE can do now, Sam mentally corrects.  "Come on, we're burning daylight."

And that's how they end up on the road heading towards Sioux Falls.  AC/DC is on full blast and Dean is silent in the driver's seat, and Sam has to restrain himself from shutting the music off because he needs not to act like himself; he can't give himself away this far into the game.

About an hour in, Sam tries conversation.

"So, uh, are you working any…jobs?"  Cases, Sam thinks.   _Do you have a case already or are you going to try and find me?_  He hopes for the former.  

"Not at the moment.  I have family commitments."  His fingers tighten around the wheel.

"Is that why you're ditching me?" Sam asks, crossing his arms in a sullen gesture.  He can't help it.  

Dean laughs.  "Something like that.  Besides, you'll be safer with Bobby.  He'll figure something out."

Thing is, Bobby isn't home.  When they reach Sioux Falls and pull up to the junkyard, they find the gate locked and a sign hanging that reads, "Closed, Owner on Vacation."  Dean tries several of Bobby's lines--no answer.  He tries both his cell phones--no answer.

"Oh son of a--dammit, Bobby!" 

_Perfect_ , Sam thinks.

"This is just…"  Dean kicks at the dirt.  "This is just great."  He glares at Sam.  "Great.  Just…get in the car."  Sam moves fast.

Fifteen minutes later they're at a diner and Dean still doesn't have any idea what to do with him.

"Just…let's go through this again.  You've been having dreams…"

"Yeah.  For a while now.  I was living with my family at home.  My adoptive parents," he explains.  "And my sister too."  Sam's trying for something close to the truth but not too close to give him away.  "We, uh, don't get along; my sister and I.  I mean, I still don't want anything to happen to her, it's why I left, but yeah.  We don't have much in common."

"Tell me about it," Dean mutters, and Sam feels vaguely offended for some reason.  He's not sure why, but he does.  Dean's supposed to…  Dean's…   _Whatever_.

"You don't get along with…Sam?"

Dean gets that still vibe about him again.  "I thought we did.  He's my brother," he clarifies.  "I was apparently wrong." 

"Where, uh, is he?"

Dean shrugs.  "Don't know.  I was about to go looking for him--"

"But I came along.  Sorry."  Sam's not sorry.  Apparently that comes across in the tone of his voice because Dean scowls.

"Yeah, right.  Well, we're going after him now.  He'll LOVE to meet you," Dean says, rolling his eyes.  "He'll have all sorts of questions.  Probably want to adopt you on the spot."

"Adopt me?" 

"He has a thing for the helpless and downtrodden." 

"I'm not helpless!"

Dean raises his eyebrows.  "Then why'd you come to find me then?"  Sam…has no answer to that.  "Thought so," Dean says with a smirk, and doesn't Sam just want to slap that look off his face?

"Look, I just…"  Just what?  Why are you here, Sam?  "I don't know where else to go.  Something's after me and I'm kind of…freaking out.  And if I stay home my family will try and help and that's just gonna get them killed.  I don't have anywhere else to go," Sam repeats.  Because god, that's what it feels like.   

Dean is quiet for a few (long) minutes.  He looks at Sam--Jessica--like he's under a microscope, and Sam barely resists squirming.

"Alright.  I get that," he says finally.  "I'm still not the safest person to hang around."

Sam nods.  "And I get THAT.  But I figure I'm safer with someone who knows what they're doing, rather than by myself and cowering in a corner."  Dean smiles at that.

"You know, we might get on just fine."

"Yeah?" Sam asks, a little too eager. 

"Yeah.  Don't get too excited about it though.  As soon as Bobby starts answering his cell, I'm dumping you right back here in Sioux Falls."

Sam nods, but really he's thinking, _gotcha_.


	4. A Brief Search for Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean looks for Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but oh well. If anyone has any interest in where they'd like to see this go, or anything they'd like to see happen, let me know. Input always appreciated!

  _February 3, 1991_

_Sam won't stop crying.  He keeps saying he's hungry and I know I need to do something.  Dad says not to steal because it draws too much attention.  But right now it's the only thing I can think of.  If he doesn't call tomorrow, I'm gonna do it._

_February 4, 1991_

_They chased me four blocks but now we've got bread and peanut butter for another week.  I hope dad's hunt ends soon._

_Oh, Bobby called a couple of days ago.  He was looking for dad and was kind of angry sounding when I said I didn't exactly know where he was.  I told him I'd let dad know he called when he got back though._

_February 6, 1991_

_Dad called, finally.  He's on his way back._  

_February 7, 1991_

_I tried talking to dad about what happened, but the moment he got in he crashed.  Oh well, it's probably just a one time thing anyway.  I doubt it'll happen again._

_February 7, 1991_

_Dad called Bobby.  There was a lot of yelling._  

_Dad says we're not going to Bobby's anymore._

* * *

Watching Dean track his moves is decidedly weird, and incredibly (and insultingly, because Dean has obviously done this before) artful.  Either Sam's predictable or Dean knows him inside-out; Sam's not sure which he prefers, to be honest.  Dean manages to trace his moves from the bus, to the exact motel room, and after a call to said motel, the goddamn room number.  Sam's totally not sulking on the way over there.

At the front desk of the motel, Sam listens as Dean interrogates the owner.  "…Yeah, he hasn't checked out.  Not answering the landline though."  The man scowls.  "Sure your friend wouldn't try'an' skip out on th'bill?"

Dean scoffs.  "Sam?  Total boy scout."  Hey!  "But here, I'll pay if it'll make you feel better."  He drew out a wad of bills from his wallet and handed it over.  The man counted them off and then nodded. 

"Room 217," he reminds them, then goes back to whatever it is he's doing.   

"C'mon," Dean says, gesturing for 'Jessica' to follow.

Sam follows but moves slow, wishing he'd got a bra to go with the underwear.  At the time it seemed unnecessary, and hell, he's always thought of himself as an enlightened guy but the idea of wearing a bra seemed emasculating.  He regrets those thoughts now, because when he moves too fast--he shudders here--he JIGGLES.  Dear god.

The room is mostly cleared out, but there's a few things Sam left behind in his panic to get the hell out of there.  His razor in the bathroom, a stray sock behind the door… Things Sam wouldn't have missed if he was on his game.  By the stoic look on Dean's face, he can tell his brother is thinking the same thing. 

Next Dean checks the perimeter.  No EMF, no sulfur, no nothing.  It's the stupidest thing that gives Sam away.  Dean, checking the alley for tracks and sees one of Sam's shoes lying by the dumpster.  

Shit, he thinks.  How could he have been so careless?  Because you were freaking the fuck out, he responds in his head.  It's understandable.  Dean never would have done it, a more treacherous part of his mind insists.

Dean checks the dumpster and his shoulders tense.  He reaches inside.  When he draws back he's holding two things: a pair of Sam's jeans and the laptop he'd busted and tossed in with the rest of his stuff.  Not good.

"These are Sam's," Dean says.  His eyes are bleak.

Knew I shoulda burned those, Sam thinks.  "What…what do you think that means?" he asks.

"For him to be this sloppy, he'd have to be in a helluva hurry to be out of here.  Meaning something's chasing him."

Sam gulps. 

"…Or he's not running."

"Huh?"

"Not running," Dean repeats.  "But maybe taken."

* * *

They spend a week looking for him, and it's not lost on Sam how ridiculous it is that Dean's looking for someone right under his nose.  While Dean slowly falls apart in front of him (okay, Sam feels a little bad about that, but it can't be helped), Sam takes the time to adjust to being a girl.  There are a lot of differences to get used to.

 He moves differently, for one.  Partly because his weight has redistributed and partly because he's over a foot shorter (looking UP to Dean rankles him).  Dean thinks he's a klutz cuz he keeps tripping over his damn tiny feet.  His voice, that bothers him too.  Higher, feminine, it sounds weird in his ears, like listening to a stranger.  And his face, god, don't get him started there.  Looking into blue eyes instead of hazel, at soft features instead of sharp, it has him avoiding mirrors.

He's lucky Dean doesn't pay much attention to him in that first week, or else he might have figured it out.

In the end, Sam sends a letter (because he sure as hell can't call) Ellen addressed to Dean.  "Stop looking for me," is what it says.  When Ellen calls to tell him, Dean's face drops before he slams his walls back into place, his stoic mask back on.

"That's that, then," he growls.  Sam tries to put on a sympathetic face, but Dean's not looking at him.  Sam ignores this though, and as subtly as possible slides a newspaper towards Dean.  A hunt will be a nice distraction for his brother.  And while Dean's busy with that, Sam can get some much needed research done.  He doesn't plan on staying a woman forever after all.


End file.
